


(Not) This Time

by Tranquility



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Brothers, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I've Been Falling For 30 Minutes, Loki Needs a Hug, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stabbing, Thor Has Issues, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), dysfunctional family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tranquility/pseuds/Tranquility
Summary: Loki falls on the Sanctum’s floor and doesn’t get up.





	(Not) This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the immediate aftermath of seeing the film and ~~insert a gazillion of excuses, but mostly just nerves~~ here it is 3 months later.
> 
> Eternal gratitude goes to the wonderful [ChloeWeird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWeird) for Beta.

 

“I suppose I’ll need my brother back.” Thor’s voice sounds tired even to himself. He gives the Midgardian sorcerer an expectant look.

The sorcerer seems a little lost for a second, then nods, and Thor goes back to shaking off his umbrella, letting out a cloud of concrete dust and small shards of glass that clatter against the marble floor.

It has been a trying day. The adrenaline of the battle is gone, and now a deep weariness is settling into his body. There is a foul, sour aftertaste from the weak Midgardian beer in his mouth. His right shoulder aches dully where one of the demons clawed at him, and the pressure building at his temples is threatening to turn into a full-blown headache.

He thinks about the bathing halls back at the palace, wishes he could go down there now, soak his sore muscles in the hot waters mixed with soothing herbs, lean back and watch the steam rise to the glimmering mosaics of the arched ceiling.

A scream jars Thor out of his thoughts.

Then, a moment later, a black-clad body drops out of the portal above them and lands on the stone floor with a loud thud. The scream cuts off, giving way to loud breathing.

Thor mentally prepares for a barrage of insults. But they don't come. At least not yet.

“You can handle him from here,” says the sorcerer flatly. He seems to be just as eager to end their encounter.

“Yes, of course. I thank you for your help.” Thor shakes the sorcerer’s hand a little too firmly and watches him flinch with a note of satisfaction before turning around. “Loki?”

Loki is still sprawled on the floor, braced on his elbows, face down, forehead almost touching his white-knuckled fists. Tangled black hair falls over his face. His shoulders heave wildly, but he doesn’t seem to make any attempts to get up.

Thor steps closer until he is looming over Loki’s prostrate body. For a few moments the room is completely silent, bar the ticking of the tall floor clock and the fast, wheezing sounds of Loki’s breathing.

“Loki?” Thor roughly nudges Loki in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “Enough with the illusions, brother. Get up!”

Loki’s breath hitches and the knuckles go even whiter, but he doesn’t move.

Thor glares back at the sorcerer, who only shakes his head in return.

Sharp, prickling tendrils of irritation start growing in Thor’s gut. Of course Loki would pick this moment to put on a performance. Always the tricks, the lies, the subterfuge — anything to avoid facing the consequences. And Thor is tired, really tired of all of this.

“Just how many times do you think you can play this game?” Thor bends over and grabs Loki by the biceps, hauling him up by one arm. “Get up. Don’t make it difficult.”

Loki doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t resist. But his body is rigid, uncooperative. The moment Thor releases him, Loki sways, and Thor manages to catch him just in time, as his legs begin to fold.

It quickly becomes apparent that Loki is not going to stay upright by himself. Thor has to let go of the umbrella — which remains conspicuously standing on its point by his side — and grab Loki’s shoulders with both hands. “By Norn’s sake! What has gotten into you?” He gives Loki a firm shake. Loki’s head wobbles listlessly back and forth. Some of the hair flies away from his face, and Thor catches a glimpse of his eyes… dark and glassy, staring blankly ahead.

There is a dark leather armchair in the corner and Thor half carries, half drags Loki to it. As soon as Thor lowers him down, Loki curls on himself, leaning over his knees, and wraps his hands over his midsection — shaking, Thor realises.  

“What is going on?” enquires the sorcerer.

“Perhaps I should ask the same of you. Is this your magic?”

“I have simply isolated your brother in a continuous time loop to allow us time to talk,”  says the sorcerer cautiously. He pauses and looks over at Loki. “It couldn’t have caused him any actual harm.” He takes a step towards them.

“No,” growls Thor, raising his hand. “Stay there.” The umbrella springs to life, spinning on its axis a few times and slides to stand in the sorcerer’s path. For his own benefit, mostly. This may well be a charade, a trap of some sort.

The sorcerer's eyebrows shoot up, but he evidently decides to stay out of it.

Thor turns back to Loki and crouches in front of the chair. Reaching over, he pushes away strands of hair plastered to Loki’s forehead, then hooks his fingers under Loki’s chin and pulls it up to have a better look at his brother's face.

Loki’s skin is waxen-pale, sweat beading at his temples, teeth grinding, as he’s trying to suck in the air. His wide, liquid eyes, filled to the brim with the black of his pupils, stare right through Thor without a trace of recognition.

Thor presses his palm to Loki’s forehead. It feels cold and clammy. He goes ahead and loosens the contraption around Loki’s neck: a thin piece of black cloth the Midgardians use for their ceremonial wear.

Next, Thor checks for injuries. He pries Loki’s hands away, then unbuttons his jacket, bringing his hand to Loki’s stomach and prodding it lightly. Loki goes very stiff, but doesn’t protest. Doesn't try to pull away.

From what Thor can tell from his examination nothing seems to be amiss, there are no open wounds, no broken bones. And yet something is decidedly off.

It occurs to Thor that perhaps he should be feeling something. Concern? Worry? But he doesn’t. There was a time, a lifetime ago — _two_ lifetimes — when his heart would clench painfully and protectiveness would surge in his chest. Not this time.

Two years spent wandering the branches of Yggdrasil. Two years searching for the answers to the questions he didn’t have, fighting battles that didn’t need fighting, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt and the chilling void in his chest.

Only to come back to another farce. Lie. Mockery.

But it doesn't hurt. Not anymore. There is no sting of betrayal, no anger. No joy of relief either. Just a deep-seated weariness.

All Thor wants is to be done here. Step through the portal, find Father and go home. Rest. Bathe. Greet his shield brothers. Eat a hearty meal of roast lamb and cured fish from the Gopul river, washed down with sweet Asgardian mead. Sleep in his own bed...

A steaming cup suddenly appears right in front of him and hovers precariously in the air.

“What is this?” asks Thor.

“Tea,” says the sorcerer, and after a bit clarifies, “Green tea. With a little honey.”

The tea looks yellow, rather than green. Thor thinks to refuse it, then thinks again and presses the cup into Loki’s hands.

Loki takes it. And almost immediately drops it. Thor catches the cup, but not before some of the hot liquid splashes onto Loki’s lap. The cup refills itself, and Thor glares at the sorcerer. He has grown awfully weary of the magic tricks.

He takes the cup nonetheless and brings it to Loki’s quivering lips, prompting him to take a sip.

The tea does seem to work somewhat. After a few more sips Loki’s eyes gradually begin to focus. He keeps his head perfectly still, but his eyes shift around, slowly scanning the surroundings, before coming back to rest on Thor’s face. For a few moments Loki just looks lost, then his eyebrows draw together, and his thin, pale lips twitch. But no sound seems to come out.

“Thor?” he finally manages, voice low and hoarse.

“Yes. Drink.” Thor presses the cup into his hands again and this time Loki musters enough presence of mind to hold it for himself.

~

“You…” Loki’s eyes narrow, fixed firmly on the Midgardian sorcerer. It’s been a while. The tea is gone now and so is the shaking. Loki is still pale, and his breathing still sounds a little rough, but his gaze has finally cleared up. “This was your doing.” Loki’s voice goes dangerously low. Thor can see the muscles tensing in his body, his knuckles going white around the teacup.

“Lo— ,” starts Thor, taking a step towards the armchair, but at this very moment the teacup shatters in Loki’s hands, and his whole body uncoils, as he leaps up, a pair of long mean daggers manifesting in his hands.  

Thor’s reaction is instant. He throws himself in front of Loki, bodily preventing him from lunging at the sorcerer and grabs at his wrists, before Loki has a chance to send the knives flying.  

Thor tries to push him back into the chair, but Loki is barging forward against his hold with such venomous determination that Thor has to use all his strength just to keep him from taking another step towards the sorcerer. “Loki, no!”

“Just who do you think you are!” hisses Loki, twisting in Thor’s grip. “You think you’re some kind of _sorcerer?_ ”

“Loki, stop!” Thor is desperately searching for something calming to say. For reasons unknown, his brain supplies the image of Lady Natasha. “The sun is going down,” tries Thor. “The sun is really low...”

Loki stills for a fraction of a second, tearing his eyes away from the sorcerer and giving Thor a confused stare. Thor exhales. But then the blast of pain explodes between his legs as Loki’s sharp knee jams into his groin. Thor gasps, bending involuntarily and loosening his grip on Loki’s wrists.

Loki uses the opportunity to drive the blade through Thor’s thigh.

The dagger penetrates his flesh like butter, but Thor hardly feels it, still consumed by the raging pain in his groin, still trying to suck the air into his lungs. He pins a flailing Loki closer to his chest in a grotesque mockery of an embrace.

“Alright, that's enough. I’m gonna have to ask you — “ the sorcerer is saying behind him, but the rest is cut off by Loki’s yelling and the loud flapping of the fabric.

Thor doesn’t know what the Midgardian sorcerer is capable of, but now is not the time to find out whether it would stand up to the full wrath of his brother’s millennium-honed magic. He has to stop this before it turns into a full-blown magic showdown. He looks around frantically trying to see where the portal opening is.

“Open the portal, sorcerer!”

Loki has changed tactics and is now trying to headbutt him, as Thor tries to lean out to avoid the blows.

The sorcerer hesitates. “Thor, are you —“

“I will handle this,” grits out Thor, twisting one of Loki’s wrists and forcing him to drop the knife. The other one remains firmly lodged in his thigh.

“Handle me? How dare you!” spatters in his face Loki, his nostrils flaring, eyes blazing. “Let go of me! I’ll carve his heart out! Have his skin flayed off! Cleave his puny head from his neck — ”

Thor tightens his grip. “Portal. Now!”

Finally, there is a faint sizzling sound. Thor doesn’t turn to look. Instead, he hauls a writhing and screaming Loki towards the sound, opening his palm to call Mjolnir at the very last moment, just as they are both falling through the fiery ring.

~

They end up on the grass. Thor lands flat on his back, pulling Loki with him, pinning him against his body, chest to chest.

Loki is fighting to break free with even more ferocity than before, thrashing in Thor’s grip like a wild salmon caught in the net. Insults and threats are pouring out of him.

“Let go of me! Let go! I will sew his mouth shut, tear his bowels out, feed his eyes to the ravens!”

The portal closes straight away. But then Loki has always had his own methods, so Thor keeps his hold.

“Loki, enough! Calm down. The sun is —”

“Shut up! Shut up, or I'll have _your_ mouth sewn shut!” Loki sinks the blade deeper into Thor's thigh — and _twists_ it. The edge of the blade scrapes the bone, shooting fire through Thor’s body. “Let go of me!”

Thor doesn't. The pain is so intense his eyes water, but instead, he only tightens his hold, pressing Loki harder into his chest.

His leg is ablaze. But somehow this hot, pulsing pain is better than the cold hollowness that has settled inside him.

“ — eldhusfifl, veslingr, puny wretch — ”

Loki. Vibrating with rage, spitting insults, coiling like a snake, thrashing in Thor’s arms, driving the knife deeper into Thor’s flesh and so very... _alive._

And at this moment Thor suddenly feels like he wants to crush Loki into his chest, push him right in, fill this gaping void. He holds him tighter. So tight that the insults stop abruptly, turning into a hiss. Thor thinks Loki’s ribs might break, but he doesn’t care. He is afraid that if he lets go, Loki will vanish into thin air once again.

~

The struggle eventually goes out of Loki, and all that’s left of his rage is the loud ragged breath.

Thor shifts his arms, not trying to restrain Loki anymore, instead bringing one hand to cup the back of Loki’s head, wrapping another around his thin frame, pulling him into a hug.

Loki doesn’t return it, his body stiff against Thor’s, but he doesn’t fight it either. Thor feels his warm solid weight on his chest, the wild hammering of his heart and the hot breath on his skin, where Loki’s head fits in the crook of his neck like a missing piece fits into a puzzle.

He fists his fingers in the long black curls and buries his nose into them, breathing in. They smell of the familiar cedar oil Loki uses to sleek his hair, and the winter forest, and the bitter herbs. The kind of herbs Mother’s hair used to smell of.

“I saw you die,” Thor muffles, pressing his lips to Loki’s temple. “I saw you die.”

~

When Thor finally releases his grip, Loki rolls off him and sits up, straightening his jacket and brushing the hair back from his forehead.

Thor pushes himself up on his elbows. Neither of them speaks.

Loki’s eyes slide down Thor’s body, stopping at his thigh, and Thor follows his gaze to where the knife is still firmly lodged, and the dark stain is spreading, red blood painting the blue fabric of his Midgardian trousers purple.

For a second Loki looks up, as if wanting to say something. Or maybe waiting for Thor to speak.

Thor doesn't. Instead, he slowly pulls the dagger out and tosses it to the side. More blood gushes out, and he presses his palm to the wound, wincing. It hurts, but it’s no matter. It will start healing soon, he knows from experience. This wouldn’t be the first time. Far from it.

“Hey,” says Thor, and the wide green eyes dart back up, wary. “Remember when you turned into a snake?” This sudden thought makes Thor chuckle. “We couldn’t have been older than eight dozen.”

Thor can still vividly see the triumphant expression on his kid brother’s little face as he repeatedly stabbed Thor with a wooden dagger. It hurt no less for it being a toy. Mother was furious when she had to heal Thor’s bleeding shoulder.

There is a brief flash of some untold emotion that Thor can’t quite pinpoint in Loki’s eyes, before he reins it in, pulling on an impassive mask. Loki stays silent for a long moment, and Thor simply watches him, but then the corners of Loki’s mouth twitch ever so slightly, and the stony resolve on his face begins to crumble.

Loki shakes his head and looks away, bringing his hand over his face. His shoulders tremble, and a small sob-like sound escapes. Then another.

But when Loki takes his hand away, the sound that spills out of his mouth is… laughter. Jerky and hesitant at first, it grows into full resonant laughter that shakes his entire body.

Thor looks, really _looks_ at Loki, for the first time since he watched the ashen web spread over his face on Svartenheim.

Thin and willowy in his black Midgardian clothes, sharp features stand out on his eerily pale face, framed by his messy black curls. Loki somehow looks older now. Worn out, perhaps. There are soft crinkles around his eyes as he laughs.

Then Loki looks up and instead of the haunted look, instead of the mad glimmer, there is a hint of something different, something painfully familiar in the deep green of his eyes. Something that can be mistaken for a glimpse of a mischievous boyish twinkle.

Loki rocks with laughter, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

A chuckle bubbles in Thor’s own throat and soon he can’t hold it either. He gives in to the rising wave of laughter.

Thor can’t remember when was the last time the two of them laughed like that.

The breeze ruffles Loki’s hair and bends the long grass stems around them. It picks the sound of their laughter and carries it across the meadow and over the cliff face, down to the gently murmuring waves.

A fragile moment of peace.

And then a cold, slimy thought crawls into Thor’s mind: _what if it’s another illusion? Another trick? Another lie?_

But the throbbing in his thigh and the warm wetness under his palm feel real. He presses his fingers deeper into the wound, and it sends a fresh jolt of pain through his leg. Agonising and _real._

Thor latches onto this pain, holds onto it like onto an anchor, and keeps laughing. And if there are uninvited tears prickling at his eyes, it must simply be from laughing too hard. So he lets them slide. 

**Author's Note:**

> So that was my take on The Hug, I guess. Thank you for reading; harsh, but fair concrit or any other thoughts are always welcome. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> I have this one other Ragnarok idea -- involving heavy angst and the incorrect use of the obedience disks -- that I may or may not be able to execute, and then I can safely go back to lying on the sofa, angsting about my wips from 3 years ago... *sigh*


End file.
